


Spinning Free

by gemjam



Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Community: kink_bingo, D/s, M/M, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When David puts his trust in Charlie, he's never disappointed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spinning Free

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my kink_bingo square _sensory deprivation._

David places his hands firmly on the bed at either side of him. He’s not going to fidget. He does find himself chewing on his lip though. Nerves are okay, aren’t they? Nerves are perfectly normal and acceptable. They get the adrenaline going, make things all the more interesting.

Charlie turns around and pauses, looking him over. “Are you going to get a bit more comfortable?” he asks. “Or are you just going to wait for me to push you over.”

David cranes to look at the bed he’s perched on the end of. Comfortable. Those pillows look nice. Charlie has fluffy pillows. Decadent. Lazy. Maybe he wouldn’t sleep so much if he had more robust bedding. That’s not really the point right now though. He’s teetering on the edge of handing over control. Once he lies down, Charlie has him. Charlie already has him though. He moves down the bed.

Charlie walks over to him, iPod in hand. “I made a playlist just for you.”

“Lucky me,” David responds. He shuffles slightly against the sheets. They’re cool on his back. Charlie holds out the earphones for him.

“All instrumental,” Charlie says. “No words to distract you. Mood music. Put you in the headspace.”

David nods, pressing his lips together, and places the bits of plastic into his ears. There’s butterflies or snakes or jackrabbits in his stomach. This is new. He’s not going to be able to hear Charlie’s voice, his dark promises, his whispered encouragements, his filthy filthy words. He won’t be able to hear the gasps, the groans, the way he says David’s name when he’s doing something right.

“Okay?” Charlie asks.

“I’m probably going to garrotte myself,” David complains, fussing with the wires.

“I’ll look after you,” Charlie assures him easily. He holds the iPod up to David. “Press play.”

David looks at him. Charlie’s going to make him pull the trigger. Manipulative fucking bastard.

“Say something,” David requests.

Charlie stares at him for a long time and David thinks he’s going to refuse. He thinks he’s going to wait him out, force David to press the button in a moment of weakness. But then he licks his lips and David knows he’s gearing up to something.

“I’m going to make you come,” Charlie says, voice low and deliberate and full of authority. “And then I’m going to fuck you.”

David feels the hot flush of arousal pushing against his skin. He can’t imagine any better last words to get him through this. He pulls the trigger.

It’s not too loud. If Charlie says something, David’s pretty sure he’d hear him. But then Charlie turns the iPod back towards himself, his thumb sliding around the wheel ever so slowly to edge the volume up. He does it gradually, a notch at a time, staring right into David’s eyes with a devious expression on his face. Bit by bit, David finds himself consumed by the music, everything else truly blocked out.

It’s something modern, but that doesn’t help David place it any better. There’s a vibrating bass line that puts him in mind of his own heartbeat and there’s something sultry about it, deep tones bleeding into one another in an almost hypnotising way. It’s sort of nice. It’s certainly atmospheric. Judiciously chosen to suit the purpose at hand.

Once Charlie’s satisfied that he’s successfully disconnected David from the aural world, he places the iPod down at David’s side and gazes at him for a moment. His eyes are dark, twinkling with anticipation. David shifts under his stare. He feels uneasy. Somehow the music is more unnerving than true silence. It could block out a multitude of sins. He can’t begin to imagine all the things he could be missing out on. Charlie’s not speaking, but he knows that there’s traffic noise coming from that window, knows that the bed should creak if he moves like this, knows that the phone could be ringing or the fire alarm could be going off or...

Charlie swoops down, joining their mouths together and sweeping his tongue inside. It’s the kind of kiss that takes your breath away, makes your jaw go slack as a groan escapes your throat. David assumes. It’s not like he can _hear_ himself. He feels the vibration though so his vocal cords must be doing something. He closes his eyes, pulls Charlie closer, lets himself be taken over by it. The music makes him feel almost like he’s not there, but he knows that he is. He knows that this is real. As his body surges upwards and his fingers grab at Charlie’s clothes – why the fuck is he still dressed? – he feels himself calmed, grounded, and wanting more.

He whines, or at least he thinks he does, as Charlie pulls back, hovering over him and looking very pleased with himself. He runs a finger over David’s wet lips and then reaches across, picking up the wrist cuffs and dangling them enticingly from one finger. It’s corny, but it’s not like David gives a fuck. Not in that moment. Charlie could do literally anything and David would say _yes please._

He’s breathing harshly as Charlie takes hold of his wrist, fingers light and ticklish. He’s not forcing David, that fact’s being made very clear to him. This is what David wants. He’s an accomplice in his own seduction.

He lifts his arm easily, cranes to watch as Charlie fastens on the cuff, threading the connecting chain through the headboard. David lifts his other arm without question, revelling in the feel of cool leather around his too hot skin. He flexes his wrists, gives a little pull. No escape. Just how he likes it.

Charlie looks down at David’s body, trailing fingers over his chest, his stomach, tracing the waistband of his boxers. David squirms, tries to get closer. Charlie looks like he’s laughing, a gentle, warm chuckle, but David can’t hear anything besides the pulsing beat in his ears. He frowns. He likes Charlie’s laugh, but now he feels separate from it, not part of the joke, the joy written in Charlie’s smiling lips. He feels like it’s at his expense.

Charlie grips the waistband of his boxers with both hands, fingers dragging them downwards. David lifts his hips in easy acceptance, the feel of the material caressing his thighs, then his calves, finally tickling at his feet before Charlie tosses them deliberately aside. His skin feels like it’s set on edge, like he can _feel_ the music, making him more sensitive, heightening every touch.

Charlie places his hands on David’s knees, pushing them unceremoniously apart. David bites on his lip as Charlie climbs between his thighs, reaching out and wrapping a hand around David’s cock. David’s whole body pushes shamelessly upwards and he thinks that he probably groans again. He should be able to tell, but somehow he just can’t. It all gets lost in the beating rhythm and he’s not sure what’s inside or out anymore.

As Charlie continues to stroke him, a firm grip, slow, steady pulls, David finds himself caught up in his eyes. He looks so clever, so in control, so absolutely sexy and bastard-like. He looks smug. David doesn’t blame him. He’s fairly sure he’s never lost himself like this before, not to so little.

He was already reasonably hard but now he’s aching, throbbing, Charlie never quite giving him enough speed, enough pressure. He’s a tease, pure and simple. He’s winding David up just to watch him squirm. And it’s working. It’s working a fucking treat because David can’t keep still. His arms pull against his bindings and his hips push up into Charlie’s touch and he’s stuck in the maddening knowledge that none of it will do any good. Charlie will go at his own pace. He always does.

David doesn’t really know what Charlie’s looking for, some give or signal or surrender, but he can tell the exact moment when he sees it. His fingers grip tighter, his eyes grow a touch darker, and David knows the ante’s going up. The rules are about to change.

Charlie lets go with a final squeeze and reaches back over to the bedside table. This time, it’s a blindfold. David’s stomach does a little somersault. It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling. Anticipation, he reminds himself. Adrenaline. The good stuff.

Charlie looks into his eyes, almost asking. He’s excited, fervent, predatory. David wouldn’t dream of saying no to that. Charlie’s never steered him wrong yet. His trust in Charlie isn’t unerring, it’s just well placed. Any apprehension he feels is mostly down to embarrassment. He’s always scared that he’s going to make a twat of himself. This isn’t where he ever saw his sex life going. Charlie has proven himself to be a flawless guide though. If he’s sure of anything, he’s sure of that.

He closes his eyes in acceptance and feels the material pressed against his lids. He has to lift his head for Charlie to secure it in place, an awkward but necessary moment. The wires of the iPod tickle at his chest, catching a nipple, extra stimulation for free. Charlie cradles his head, lowers it back to those ridiculously soft cushions, and David doesn’t think he knows which way is up anymore.

He’s been blindfolded before, that’s fine. He kind of likes the blindfold actually, but that’s because Charlie seems to talk extra dirty when David can’t see him. David can’t hear him now either though and so he has absolutely no cues to go on. He’s aware of Charlie shifting on the bed, moving back over his body, settling between his thighs. He has to concentrate very hard to work that much out though and it seems exhausting. He can’t keep it up for long. He has no choice but to go with it.

He jumps as Charlie’s hands land on his hips, sliding down his thighs. They slip under his knees, fingers tickling the sensitive flesh, and then his legs are being lifted, up and apart, making him helplessly exposed. He feels unsure, but he feels excited too. He doesn’t know what’s coming, and even if he did, he’d have no way to stop it. He’s completely at Charlie’s mercy. He learnt long ago that it’s a wonderful place to be.

His knees touch his chest but they sort of don’t feel like his knees anymore. He’s not certain of anything, not even where he begins and Charlie ends. The music bleeds into all of his other senses, the blindfold making it impossible to tell anything for sure. He’s disorientated, but it doesn’t feel scary. He feels like his other senses should be keener, he’s sure that’s how this is supposed to work, but everything’s just mixed-up instead, muddled together and confused. Or maybe that touch does feel different. Maybe his smell is a little heightened. It’s overwhelming if he concentrates on it for too long though. It’s all just sex, hormones, come. It makes his dick twitch against his belly.

When he feels Charlie’s tongue against his arse, he doesn’t flinch. He’s expecting it now, or maybe he’s expecting not to expect it. Charlie licks around his hole, laps against it, and David wriggles shamelessly. He probably moans too. He tries to. He has no idea whether he succeeds or not. The thought is wonderfully freeing. He doesn’t know what he looks like, doesn’t know what he sounds like, and so any anxiety related to either act instantly evaporates. It’s like not having to face up to the consequences. A free pass. He can’t embarrass himself without an awareness of what he’s doing.

His body seems to melt with a sigh, the air going out of him as he surrenders to the feel of what Charlie’s doing to him. Clever tongue. Clever Charlie. He pants, allows his needy body to lead, and he hopes that he shows the appropriate gratitude when Charlie’s tongue finally slides inside him. It’s nothing but the sensations now, the bed below him, Charlie’s fingers supporting the crooks of his knees, Charlie’s tongue licking him open. His head spins and he revels in it, the moody music vibrating through his veins, seeping into his brain, turning it all upside-down.

Seconds go on for minutes go on for hours. The music offers him no cues, one endless song seeming to bleed flawlessly into the next. He feels like it goes on forever, Charlie’s tongue working its way deeper, David’s body begging for more, and yet it ends so soon that David’s sure his vocal cords must protest. How can they not? Or maybe they gave up. Maybe he’s gone inside himself now.

Charlie’s hands lower his legs back down to the bed and then slippery fingers are at David’s arse, circling, teasing, playing. Somehow, David can tell Charlie’s having fun. It’s in the small gestures that David wonders how he never read before. He can tell that Charlie’s smiling and David thinks he might be smiling too, but he’s not even sure of _that_ anymore. Charlie’s finger slips inside, effortless now, David’s body wants him there, and then his mouth is wrapping around David’s cock.

David must be moaning now. He’s slightly worried that he’s saying things too, praising Charlie, or maybe asking for more, asking for all the dirty things that he wants but would never usually admit to. He doesn’t think his filter’s working anymore. Maybe he’s screaming. Maybe the neighbours can hear. That thought shouldn’t make his cock throb like it does, throb against Charlie’s tongue. But it doesn’t matter because it’s not real. If he can’t hear it then it’s all just conjecture. He’s safe in his bubble, safe to do nothing but feel. It’s such an exhilarating phenomenon.

He can feel himself going and yet he’s not sure he’s going at all. In the same breath, he knows that he can’t possibly hold back. Charlie’s mouth is hot as he sucks, his tongue dextrous as it licks, probes the slit, winds around and around in a way that rivals David’s dizzy brain. He has two fingers inside David now, he’s almost sure of it, and they nudge his prostate so very deliberately each time they go in deep. It’s all pitch perfect, all designed with one thing in mind, one end goal. Make David come. Make him come so hard he can’t remember his own fucking name.

His body tenses and his arms pull against the cuffs. He’d forgotten he was wearing those. He’d forgotten he had arms. He struggles to breathe, his lungs burning, and the pleasure builds up from somewhere deep inside him. Or maybe it was always there. An orgasm is too complex a thing for him to even begin to comprehend. It burns and it crackles and it explodes and it pulsates through every inch of his body, from the sweaty hairs on his head to the curled up toes on his feet. It’s everywhere, it’s not contained within him, it’s in the room, in the molecules, it goes on forever, to infinity, stretching to the sky. He feels connected to everything and yet he feels so small, wrapped up, safe in his dark little box where nothing seems to penetrate.

He doesn’t notice when Charlie stops, when his mouth and his fingers leave David’s body. He feels those same fingers, or different fingers, these ones aren’t sticky, rubbing soothingly over his thigh. Maybe there are words being said. Comforting words. Dirty words. Promises. Because Charlie hasn’t come yet, David’s certain of that. Charlie’s going to fuck him.

Charlie’s hand retreats and then the bed shifts. It feels like David’s whole world tilts for a moment. His body is molten, fluid warmth. He’s sated and he’s sleepy, but he’s ready too. He wants this, whether he can reciprocate or not. Too much always make David feel like nothing will ever be enough again. It makes him feel greedy and slutty and spoilt and loved.

Charlie’s hands return, sliding under his thighs, encouraging him to angle himself upwards, encouraging him to express his invitation. David shuffles, places his feet flat on the bed to give himself some leverage. He makes himself available. Charlie doesn’t hesitate, just grabs David’s hips and presses the head of his cock against David’s hole, pushing in one long, steady motion until he’s buried fully inside, as deep as he can go.

It takes David’s breath away, makes his nerve endings scream. It’s suffocating, that sensation, the intimacy of it. His body’s still coming down, heart thundering and skin tingling with sweat, his muscles relaxing with each breath he takes. It makes him pliable. It makes him a good fuck. Or so he’s been told. By Charlie. David believes him. It gives him a pleased little glow to think about it. Right now, tired and peaceful and open, he’s a good fuck. And he knows enough to always be grateful for extras. Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

Charlie shifts his hips and then he starts to move, full, solid thrusts. It’s clear he has no intention of savouring this. It’s clear he’s intent only on getting off. David’s both grateful and disappointed. He wants to rest, wants his senses back, and yet he’s not really sure that he’s ready to return to the world yet. It’s strangely comforting here and, as the friction threatens to set his body alright again, he feels a tug of possibility.

He loses himself to daydreams, to fantasies, to the feel of himself forced open by Charlie’s cock. He loses himself to the music, to the darkness, to the way his skin sings in response to the lightest of touches. He loses himself to the sensation of Charlie somewhere above him, the feel of his breath falling raggedly against his neck. He loses himself, tethered only by Charlie and the trust he’s placed in him, and he’s only half-aware of the fact that Charlie is coming and then Charlie is gone and then hands are undoing the buckles on his cuffs.

The music fades away in the same way that it took him over, a notch at a time. He doesn’t quite notice at first, the subtle decreasing of volume easing its way into his consciousness, nudging him to wake up to reality. When the music’s so low that he can hear the sounds of his own breaths, he moves a numb feeling hand and pushes the blindfold up and off.

He blinks, the room feeling too bright. It takes a moment before he can focus properly on Charlie. His cheeks are flushed, his hair sticking up, a pleased smile on his lips. David smiles back, making a tiny noise in his throat that can’t begin to explain what’s going through his mind.

Charlie gently slips the earphones away from him. “Okay?”

David nods. “Very.” His voice cracks. From overuse? From underuse?

He closes his eyes again. Heavy eyelids. Friendly darkness. No talking. His ears are ringing and his brain is overloaded and he can feel Charlie’s body against his own. No thinking. Warm. Sleepy. Home.


End file.
